


Cecil Court

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [115]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 38 lifetimes, 38 lifetimes fic, Based On Notting Hill, F/M, London, cecil court, meet cute, sorry Richard Curtis, the red nose diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: I got a comment on a previous story (Desktop, I think) wondering what it might be like if Tom wasn't the famous one. So I came up with this.





	Cecil Court

**Author's Note:**

> I got a comment on a previous story (Desktop, I think) wondering what it might be like if Tom wasn't the famous one. So I came up with this.

The rain kept all but the most dedicated shoppers and tourists inside, so it was a quiet Saturday afternoon at Tom Hiddleston’s shop in Cecil Court.

But as he sold antique books, maps, and prints, it wasn’t that much different from any other Saturday for him and for his business. From where he sat behind the register, Tom could hear the sighs of his assistant Terry who stood at the window and gave baleful looks at the rain.

“Terry?” Tom asked.

“Hmm?” Terry was slow to turn and look at Tom, his droopy mustache now positively sagging.

“Could you get me a flat white?” Tom held up his wallet. “And yourself, as well.”

Terry nodded. “Anything for a stretch. But it’s my turn to treat. You got the kebabs on Thursday.”

Tom grinned. “Fair enough. And don’t feel like you have to hurry back.” He looked around the shop. “We’re not exactly buried at present.”

When Terry let himself out, he held the door open for a single customer. Tom returned to his book, murmuring “Welcome” and “Let me know if you need any help” while they walked slowly around.

“Mmm hmm,” replied the shopper, and went about their browsing.

Tom kept reading the same line, lulled into a sort of stupor by the sound of the rain, and the steady gait of the shopper’s steps as they walked about. He decided to wake himself up with a quick stretch of his arms, unfolding himself so he sat straight up at his station. He blinked his eyes, focusing on the shopper as they — now revealed to be a she — stopped to look through an oversize binder of maps.

Tom froze. She wore no makeup, and was dressed casually in a dark blue raincoat over a grey sweatshirt, jeans, and short rubber boots. In the oversize tote bag she wore on her shoulder napped a small dog that looked rather like a corgi and a fox. Her dark hair, made frizzy by the damp, fell around her round face. Rosy cheeks. Wide dark eyes that now flicked up to meet his.

“Hello,” she said. She waved a hand at him. “Nice store you got here.”

“Erm, thanks.” Tom cleared his throat. “Can I help you find something?”

Setting aside the binder, the customer walked the few feet to the counter to stand in front of him. When the dog harrumphed in his sleep, she chuckled. “I was just looking for an old map of London.”

“Are you a historian?” Tom said aloud while inside to himself he thought,  _ You know perfectly well she is not. _

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

“A gift for a historian friend?” Tom heard himself asking while inside to himself he thought,  _ Oh my god man, what is wrong with you? _

“Oh no!” She chirped. “Sad to say I was just looking for something to hang up in the guest room of my place.”

Tom nodded. “Well, if you like, we’ve already got some framed maps of the city up here.” Tom pointed at the corner behind him. “Eighteenth through early twentieth.”

When she walked past him to examine the wall, Tom followed her. He kept a few steps back, trying but failing to keep his heart from racing.

Carmen DiGregorio was no historian. She was a celebrity. An actress who made her name playing the second banana in various romantic comedies. Even if the movies were poorly reviewed or made no money, she never failed to earn good notices.

Tom had seen nearly all of her movies. He didn’t particularly like romantic comedies — all his previous girlfriends, all three of them, liked them, however — but he liked her.

He liked her a lot.

“What do you think?” Carmen nodded at a map of the city rendered in yellow. Bacon’s City of London. 1929, Tom recalled. A steal at ￡250.

Tom nodded. “I can have it wrapped and sent wherever you like.”

She turned to look at him. “Can’t I take it with me?”

Tom stuttered: “Uh, of course! It’s just, with the rain. And it’s rather large to take home on the tube.”

“Oh.” Carmen laughed. “I was going to take a taxi.”

_ Idiot, _ Tom thought to himself, and blushed. “Naturally.”

As Tom made plans to die from embarrassment, a phone rang from within Carmen’s coat pocket. She looked apologetic as she answered it. “Yes? Oh hi. How are you?... Shopping in Cecil Court. I found something for the guest…. what? Now? Thirty minutes from…?” She peered up at Tom, chewing on her bottom lip, and the sight now made Tom want to die of sheer pleasure. “Sure. Okay. Bye.” Carmen hung up and frowned at him. “What time do you close?”

“Six o’ clock,” replied Tom, pushing up his glasses.

“When you say send it…” Carmen began to say.

“We have a courier service, though they can only deliver on weekdays.”

“Oh.” Carmen looked thoughtful. “I was kinda hoping I could take it today.”

“Is something the matter?” Tom asked.

“It’s just… I have a meeting I have to go to now, and I won’t get out until six.”

Tom thought. He had an idea which perhaps she would shoot down, reject before kicking him in the shins and running away to buy a more expensive poster from one of his neighboring competitors.

He blurted it out anyway.

“I… if you don’t mind…” Tom cleared his throat. “I could wrap it, and deliver it myself. This evening.” He looked in her eyes and said a last prayer. “If that is alright.”

Carmen blinked at him. She inhaled, slowly, and Tom was ready for what was no doubt a gracious apology when, instead, she smiled and said, very quietly, “Okay.”

Tom felt the wind knocked of him. He felt a knot in his stomach and a warmth in his chest. He took out his order book and a pen, and began to write up the order.

Carmen recited her address and telephone number for him without hesitation, though she did give him a curious smile after as she handed over her credit card. He gave it a quick glance, confirming that she was, in fact, Carmen DiGregorio, and swiped it. Tom folded her receipt and paperwork into a pale blue envelope, “Hiddleston & Hiddleston” stamped in black script on the paper.

“So, I’ll see you tonight?” Carmen smiled.

“Should I call or text you…?” Tom said.

“Why don’t I call you when I’m home?” Carmen suggested. “If you take a cab or a rideshare, I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Tom said. “It’s my pleasure.”

“It would be mine,” Carmen insisted. “I’d find a way to get the cash into your pockets, somehow.”

“Oh?” Tom asked.

Carmen smirked. “I’m very sneaky that way.”

Before Tom could come up with a witty, possibly flirty retort, the little dog in Carmen’s bag stirred awake. He squinted at Tom, as if to say,  _ I don’t know what you’ve been up to with my mistress, but I’m pretty sure I don’t care for it _ . In contrast, Carmen offered another smile.

“Bye,” she said, turning to go.

“Wait!” Tom waved at her. When she looked back at him, eyebrow arched in curiosity, he patted his chest. “Erm, I’m Tom.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Hiddleston?”

He nodded back. “Correct.”

She smiled. “Was that all?”

Tom’s face felt like it was on fire. “I guess so.”

“Well, Tom,” Carmen said. “I’ll see you later?”

Tom nodded, and continued nodding, even as she and her dog disappeared through the door.

He barely had time to sit down and catch his breath and freak out and process the fact that he would be delivering an order to the house of his celebrity crush in two hours or so when Terry returned, bearing coffee and pastries.

The shop assistant grinned, though his mustache still dropped. “So…” He said, walking up to give Tom his coffee. “What did I miss?”


End file.
